Inappropriate
by macgyvershe
Summary: Those inappropriate thoughts keeping Sherlock a little on edge.


**Inappropriate?**

Love has blossomed in the infertile heart of Sherlock Holmes. The seeds were never sown, the soil never tilted and yet the flower took root. The phantom rains fell and the sunlight of John's smile became the creator of a devotion that had never been known. Love found in the midnight blue eyes of his doctor and his soldier, now Sherlock couldn't imagine not having John at his side; always and forever John _**must**_ be at his side.

For love is that disastrous disadvantage, that cunning dissolution of logic, reason and mind. How fragile the filaments of thought that destroy utterly. How the temporal expanses of desire can bridge the distances between them. Sherlock is sure that he can feel John's heartbeat at any given moment in time; can feel John breathing against his own ribs, gods he has mapped those weathered lines on John's face and can draw them from memory in the pitch black of night. Sherlock's heart is encrusted now with longing and desire, with emotions so alien to him that it is like having his DNA coding overwritten, he is dissolving into random thoughts that burn with desires pain and tantalize with pleasures not yet felt.

What would it be like to be more than just friends, more than mere partners in solving the mystery? John was the ultimate mystery. The one that Sherlock could never find a resolution to and would always, always want to keep trying. He, so desperately wanted more, but he was so inexperienced. So Sherlock had read about positions, placement and paraphernalia, but knew that love was not in books and the words of others. Love was John and John was love.

It was making Sherlock crazy; this constant internal struggle to find an answer, to get closer to John without driving him away. John was bi-sexual. He'd known that the first night at Angelo's and he'd so blithely thrown away any chance he'd had at being more to John when he'd said he was married to his work. He's screwed that one up royally. He'd seen the desire there and simply dismissed it. Walked over it and through it and now he lamented those words and that affront. He lamented with all his heart.

He laid on the couch, motionless, thoughts circling his brain like an airport with not enough run ways and way too many planes. His hands clasped together, steepled under his chin. He could feel John puttering about the flat. Working at his PC, making tea, pulling laundry out of the laundry room, doing all those little domestic things, making everything clean and tidy; ordering everything, making order out of chaos, bringing contentment out of loneliness. John was so necessary now. Not only for his friendship, but because he made Sherlock more, so much more. His deductions, his clarity, his mind was blindingly more sensitive. The light that John cast into the shadows of Sherlock's brain was brilliant like a conduit of intense understanding and unstoppable truth.

At the same time it was going to kill Sherlock if he didn't find the courage in his heart to say the words that needed to be said. Why in hell couldn't he do that? He was afraid. Afraid that after having turned John's attentions away that he, too, would now be rebuffed.

Logically, though, that wasn't John's way. He wouldn't do that would he? John wasn't that kind of person, he was kind, knowledgeable and well, quirky, but not someone to hold grudges or be in dark moods. That was Sherlock's bailiwick and even those dark moods didn't descend on Sherlock that much anymore.

"John," Sherlock said as John made another pass into the kitchen to butter some toast and brew some marvelous tea.

"Yes, Sherlock."

"Can you come here, please?"

John left his tea and his toast coming to sit on the coffee table right next to Sherlock. It was very seldom that Sherlock used the 'P' word. So something was important, drop everything and pay attention John thought to himself.

"You have told me on more than one occasion that there was nothing that I could say or do, nothing from my past that would ever make you leave me."

"Yes, I remember that, Sherlock," John said.

'John looked serenely calm and so very cuddly' thought Sherlock. His mind began extrapolating on the cuddliness of John and blood started flowing into all the wrong places. He felt his whole mind fill with thoughts that were highly inappropriate. He took a massive deep breath and looked at the ceiling.

"John, I am having inappropriate thoughts."

"Since when has that ever stopped you from voicing your opinions?" John was slightly bemused.

Sherlock took his left hand and placed it directly upon John's denim covered crotch.

"Yes, ah, fine." John felt his body respond in ways that were merely natural. "Well I think we can kick appropriate completely out the window and…"

Sherlock's talented fingers began playing his instrument of choice at the moment and John found his mind incapable of anything that resembled intelligence.

Sherlock turned toward John and with his right hand grabbed John's shirt and pulled him into a rather delicious and mutually enjoyable kiss. Then Sherlock pulled the bone-less and easily moved John to lie atop him.

"I hope that you will find it in your heart to accept my apologies, John. I'm not married to my work. In fact there is an insanity clause in my pre-nup that lets me out of the whole affair, because now I want only you, John."

"Yes, Sherlock," John said with affection. "For god's sake, yes! And what the hell took you so long?"


End file.
